"You go on ahead, got something I need to sort out first.""What, Khala not the first to hit the pub? Who are you, and what have you done with the real Khala?"There is a split second where you feel the sweat on your back turn to ice before you find the wherewithal to laugh. Nym and Omo join in.
"But seriously though, go do whatever. We're going to start drinking without you, though, so catch up when you get back!""Thanks, see you in a bit."You head off south down the road, keeping the old tinker in sight as you stalk him to the outskirts of town. As you pass through the farmland surrounding Stepcrossing, you notice a farm with a chicken coop in the growing dusk. You make a note of the tinker's direction and head over to the farmhouse. You knock on the door, and after a few moments it opens to reveal a pinch-faced human farmer. As soon as he sees you, he grabs hold of a cudgel from beside the door and makes to beat you to death.
"GET OUT! YOU'LL NOT BE STEALING ANY OF MY CHICKENS, YOU LITTLE -"
You jump away from the first strike and extend your hands, proclaiming your innocence.
"Not stealing! Not stealing! Just buying! I just want to buy a chicken, alright?"The farmer halts his assault, squinting his beady eyes at you and harrumphing.
"Oh, you speak Plain. Well still, fuck off. It's late, come back in the day."
"I'll pay double!""Hrm. Still no, I can't be asked to kill and pluck a chicken this late." He moves to shut the door.
"I'll take care of that, the killing and the plucking. Just get the chicken for me and I'll be out of your hair."You can see the farmer visibly struggle between his bigotry and his greed. "Fine. Six shillings."
"Six?! That's outrageous!""Seven, for the lip." You grumble and fish out the coins. The farmer saunters off, leaving you waiting a good ten minutes for his return. You are seized by an urge to tear his throat out with your teeth that has nothing to do with your vampirism. The farmer eventually emerges from the coop with a rather scraggly chicken, feet tied with twine and clucking in protest at her handling. He tosses the chicken at you and tells you to go away. You oblige.
You find an isolated spot away from town, struggling with the chicken all the while, and once you think you are out of earshot you take off your shirt and bite down on the chicken's throat. The chicken screeches in protest and you struggle to keep it in place while its hot, fresh blood rushes into your mouth. You gulp it down greedily, and too soon the chicken's thrashing stops and you are forced to suck at the gash in its throat to extract each last drop of vital essence.
It tastes... acceptable. Like beef jerky compared to a steak. The maddening dryness to your throat has died down as well, though you are not really sated by it. You think that might be a case of volume rather than quality, although you suspect sapient blood would probably satisfy you more. You kick the chicken corpse into a bush and cover it up with some dirt, then wipe your mouth clean and put your shirt back on.
By the time you return to the inn, Nym is well into her cups and Omo is sat in the corner, playing a jaunty tune on her violin. If you really wanted to tell them, you could.
Vitality: 8/8
Thirst: Thirsty
XP: 1/10
Inventory: Shabby clothes, wineskin w/ cheap wine, 3 silver pieces, 2 copper, boxwood harp, copper dagger, empty clay jug.
Skills: Competent Singer, Competent Harper, Adequate Poet, Adquate Dancer